I hate pants
I threatened (or at least hinted at such a threat) and now I bring it down upon your poor, unfortunate heads so like the sharpened axe it is, shining bright and sterile in the piercing summer sun. Maybe you can't hear it through the network lines, but it whistles as it descends.
So. I hate pants. Why? Why, you may ask, do I hate pants? How can someone hate pants? Pants keep us warm. Especially in colder climates. But, I would venture, the converse is also true; pants make us hot (and not the good hot like sexy hot [well...not necessarily], I mean like temperature-wise), especially in warmer climates.
Pant making people (pantmakers?) refuse to make a set of pants that fit me perfectly. I either need to grow taller or fatter. Or a lot thinner. Since they snub me, I snub them in return. It is a vicious cycle that will probably degenerate into verbal abuse, potentially a political assassination, and from there we get World War III, in which alliances will be broken, enemies will be forced to work together for their very survival, and the 13% of the Earth's population not killed in the ensuing nuclear holocaust and resulting fallout will one day return to the surface mutated, scared, diseased, and likely uneducated. The world will enter a second Dark Age. And all because those bastards at those pant-making-facilities refuse to make a pair of pants that fits me perfectly. Not well. I have those. Perfectly.
Pants. I even hate the word. It has more than one meaning! As in, "That dog pants", as in panting. The Verb. Sure, it doesn't come up much in that form, but since it does come up, I hate it. I get to say things like that because this is my Live Journal and I don't have to listen to reason or anything like that. I rule by my emotions (or maybe whims would be a better description of my power doctrine).
Plus, pants are long. Why do they have to go all the way down to your shoes/ankles? What if they only went down to about your knees? Or maybe they could make even shorter pants for girls. Everyone likes girls' legs, right?
Yep, so, in conclusion. Pants suck. And I rule. Everyone should burn their pants in protest of pants everywhere.
So. I hate pants. Why? Why, you may ask, do I hate pants? How can someone hate pants? Pants keep us warm. Especially in colder climates. But, I would venture, the converse is also true; pants make us hot (and not the good hot like sexy hot [well...not necessarily], I mean like temperature-wise), especially in warmer climates.
Pant making people (pantmakers?) refuse to make a set of pants that fit me perfectly. I either need to grow taller or fatter. Or a lot thinner. Since they snub me, I snub them in return. It is a vicious cycle that will probably degenerate into verbal abuse, potentially a political assassination, and from there we get World War III, in which alliances will be broken, enemies will be forced to work together for their very survival, and the 13% of the Earth's population not killed in the ensuing nuclear holocaust and resulting fallout will one day return to the surface mutated, scared, diseased, and likely uneducated. The world will enter a second Dark Age. And all because those bastards at those pant-making-facilities refuse to make a pair of pants that fits me perfectly. Not well. I have those. Perfectly.
Pants. I even hate the word. It has more than one meaning! As in, "That dog pants", as in panting. The Verb. Sure, it doesn't come up much in that form, but since it does come up, I hate it. I get to say things like that because this is my Live Journal and I don't have to listen to reason or anything like that. I rule by my emotions (or maybe whims would be a better description of my power doctrine).
Plus, pants are long. Why do they have to go all the way down to your shoes/ankles? What if they only went down to about your knees? Or maybe they could make even shorter pants for girls. Everyone likes girls' legs, right?
Yep, so, in conclusion. Pants suck. And I rule. Everyone should burn their pants in protest of pants everywhere.